


A Face Without Context

by lcvelylupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Dean Thomas, F/F, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lcvelylupin/pseuds/lcvelylupin
Summary: Dean was pretty studious. Especially when he got a full ride to his first choice art university. However, when other studious boys sat a few tables away in the aforementioned library, chewing on their pencils, eyes slowly and interestedly scanning their pages, it was kind of hard to focus.





	A Face Without Context

It began in a pretty predictable location. A campus library.

It was only a month into the semester, so a lot of people were still convinced that they would make studying their lives’ purpose. In another month, they’ll be cramming. All that could be heard was silent whispers, scratches of pencils or pens in notebooks, and the flipping of textbook pages.

Dean was pretty studious. Especially when he got a full ride to his first choice art university. However, when other studious boys sat a few tables away in the aforementioned library, chewing on their pencils, eyes slowly and interestedly scanning their pages, it was kind of hard to focus.

See, Dean was a bit gay. Just a bit, for this boy. Dean didn’t know if it was because he found him physically appealing, or because of the air of mystery that surrounded him. See, because he didn’t know his name: he was a face without context. Although they’d never spoken, Dean knew him. His face seemed to always be having a conversation, eyebrows furrowing, and then he was constantly biting and licking his lips. He seemed to be unable to stay still.

He couldn’t stay out of Dean’s head.

Today was the day he would actually get over himself and talk to him. They hadn’t said a word and already Dean was trembling a little. He swallowed the nervousness down. Honestly, he was just a person.

“What are you working on?” was the witty, heart winning question he asked him. Not even a hello.

And god, he was taking off those pretentious hipster reading glasses AND running a hand through his hair. It was a miracle that Dean didn’t faint. “Who’s asking?”

Damn, was that a hint of an Irish accent? Save him. “Dean. Dean Thomas, I’m an art major here.”

Mystery Boy licks his lips for the millionth time that day and smiles up at him. Not that Dean was counting. “Seamus Finnigan. English major. I’m working on a fable for my creative writing class.”

Seamus. He was already swooning. “Not going well, I take it?” Dean gestures to the two sentences written on his notebook.

Seamus shakes his head and presses his lips together. “Well, I thought it was. My professor’s a bit of an arse. Hard to please him.”

“Ah,” Dean replies, “The struggle of the artist,”

“Guy’s just got a thorn in his side because he couldn’t get published.” Seamus explained honestly. “Why don’t you sit down, Dean Thomas?”

“If you don’t mind,” Dean says, scooting out a chair.

“Well, when pretty boys like you come talk to me, it would be a crime if I did, wouldn’t it?”

Dean’s heart skips a beat. “Don’t waste any time, do you?”

“I just know who I want,” his blue eyes shine with confidence.

Dean sighs, thoroughly flustered. He hopes it doesn’t show. Much. “How do you know you want me?”

Seamus smiles like he doesn’t know what that does to Dean. “I just feel it. How do you know you want me?”

Dean looks at him incredulously. “Are you joking?”

“Unless you want to show me,” he pushes himself closer to Dean from across the table. Dean could smell his cologne.

Dean swallows. “Uh, listen,” he points to the door. “I-I’ve gotta go. Um, See you here, I guess?”

Seamus laughs. “See you here.”

Seamus didn’t take his eyes off Dean until the shutting of the door echoed through the tall shelves.

___

The club was filled to the brim, that Friday night. Arctic Monkeys was playing throughout, making the air heavy, stifling, and slow. Dean didn’t know what he was doing here. Wasn’t much for clubs, but hey. Wasn’t university the time in life to be adventurous?

He takes a nervous sip of his drink. Then, a familiar pair of blue eyes met his.

Seamus lifts his eyebrows at him. Dean’s eyes brighten, but he hides behind his cup, as if he were embarrassed.

“Didn’t take you for the clubbing type,” Seamus whispers in his ear when he made his way over to Dean. His body seems to be made of water; Seamus moves naturally with the crowd, taking his time, moving to the beat of the music. Dreamlike. He seems ethereal. Not once does he take his eyes off Dean.

Like a magnetic pull.

“That’s a correct assumption, yes.”

Dean feels severely underdressed. Seamus is wearing a white button up with a suit jacket, and his hair is gelled. Dean stands awkwardly in front of him in his only nice pair of jeans and a flannel.

“What brings you out of the woodwork, then?” he asks Dean, voice drifting through the air casually, like smoke, or like he’s letting the breath he’s taken guide his words.

Everything slows down, here. It isn’t a crazy club, with obnoxious flashing strobelights and people in a rush to get drunk. There isn’t really a rush to do anything; Everyone just seems to be caught in some sort of trance. The lights on the floor change colors subtly, and the music seems to carry Dean, cradling him safely. Or maybe that was just Seamus.

“Uh, I’m trying to be adventurous. That’s the name I’m giving my excuse.” Dean says softly against Seamus’ ear, head filled with static. He can’t think; he’s just saying things, babbling sleepily.

Seamus laughs quietly. Everything about him is soft and comforting. “Why are you really here?”

“I get off on embarrassing myself in front of good looking blokes, so I go out and look for opportunities. But that’s quite a mouthful.”

“Good to know.” Seamus was listening, he was, but he was a tiny bit preoccupied with staring at Dean’s lips and watching how they formed words.

God, Seamus really, really wanted to kiss him. They were seconds away, mouths lingering hesitantly in the air, exchanging fears through inhalations. It was Seamus that made the decision.

“I’d rather not kiss you in the middle of a club, you know?”

Dean seems discouraged.

“That’s not what I meant, love.” Seamus was quick to save himself. “I meant, let’s have a date, first.”

“I’m sorry, did I hear wrong?” Dean was smiling now, and Seamus whole body sighs with relief. “Smooth Seamus Finnigan is a romantic?”

“And Dean Thomas is the kind of bloke who kisses guys he just introduced himself to in the middle of a club?”

“Hm. You seem to bring out the worst in me, I suppose,”

___

“You’re telling me,” Parvati says with disbelief, “That you finally asked Cute Library Boy out? On an actual date?”

“His name is Dean, but yes,” Seamus replies, pretending to be focused on his Lit assignment. He was just bullshitting his way through the essay now, having run out of textual evidence.

“Fine. Dimple Dean, then.”

Seamus rolls his eyes.

“Spill the details, c’mon!”

“Remember when we went to The Leaky Cauldron? He was there. We danced a bit, y’know, nearly kissed. But we didn’t.”

“You didn’t kiss him?” Parvati says, even more shocked now. “Boy, what’s gotten into your head? Since when do you decline kisses from anyone?”

Seamus lifts his hands in the air. “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right, to me. With all those people there.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Wow. You must really have a thing for him.”

“He’s throwing me off,” Seamus says, his hand on his forehead, in part due to this infuriating essay and in another due to an infuriating boy. “Every time he talks I feel unsteady? Like every single word we speak is making a tightrope. A tightrope made of sentences.”

Parvati smiles a lipsticked smile, her eyes shining. “You’re so writing things about him, aren’t you?”

Seamus groans. “I could make entire novels, at this point.”

__

Monday morning rolls around, and Dean has a huge Art History exam to study for. He’s got the largest cup of caffeinated tea by his side. He’s here for the long haul. A piece of paper casually falls in the spine of his textbook. Dean looks behind him, and Seamus is walking, hips swaying, clearing his throat. Dean opens the paper.

My flat, seven o’clock, Saturday sound good to you?

….who am I kidding? You don’t have a choice. :)

His address was written neatly below that. Dean couldn’t hold back a smile.

Dean waits until Seamus makes it back to his seat, and walks over with a new piece of paper. He looks at him briefly, and drops the paper subtly in front of Seamus. He’s whistling softly

to himself.

I’ll clear my calendar… see you then.

This continues throughout the entire day.

Oh wow. I’m honored. Dean Thomas cleared his entire social calendar. For me!

Dean rolls his eyes at him.

They should be studying.

You look so cute when you concentrate…

Then why’re you distracting me, Finnigan?

It’s also cute when you’re pissed off.

You’re hopeless.

Ginny Weasley comes up to Dean and hisses in his ear, “God, just sit across from him! This is getting ridiculous.”

Dean looks up at her. “Luna sends her messages in bloody paper cranes.”

“I know,” Ginny can’t help smiling, either. Her freckles lift as her eyes do, nearly flying off her face. “But he’s infatuated with you. Those looks he gives you make my stomach churn.”

Dean never does anything about it, of course. He basks in the fact that he’s the cause of them.

___

Seven o’clock, Saturday evening.

It’s a bit far, so Dean bikes there. He doesn’t mind; he was preparing himself for the sight of Seamus. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to him.

He arrives there. He straightens his shirt, fixes his collar, and ruffles his hair a bit. Anything to stall time. Then he presses the button that calls Seamus apartment.

“I’m here. Don’t leave me waiting,” Dean says jokingly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my sugarplum!” and Dean knows he’s being dramatic on purpose, but the name makes him blush, and to be honest, he likes it.

Seamus lets him in, the door buzzing in the process. He checks the number on the piece of torn paper, and makes his way up the stairs. Luckily, his flat is only two flights up. And suddenly, he’s in front of the pastel yellow door. The number 213 shines in silver in the center. He knocks.

Seamus is there right away, which makes Dean think he was waiting behind the door. (Which was true, but he didn’t need to know that.).

Seamus stares at him open mouthed for a little while. Dean doesn’t know why; it was a nice shirt, but it had paint around the hem, from his sudden need to paint at ungodly hours. The jeans were…just jeans. Dean fails to realize that it isn’t the clothes; it’s the fact that he’s in them.

Because his dark skin is beautiful, in contrast to the shirt, and Seamus found it adorable that it was covered in paint splatters. And he loves the fact that his eyes were so bright despite being a dark brown. He loves that Dean was always smiling in some form, and that he was the cause of them. He likes that Dean is generally nervous, but he still possesses a hidden confidence when he starts talking.

He likes Dean.

Seamus was wearing a light blue button down and jeans. Dean honestly thought he looked angelic. He swore he saw a bloody halo around this boy’s head. And, he was also wearing his dorky red glasses.

He likes that Seamus is passionate about his writing, he likes that he isn’t afraid to express an opinion, and Dean is hypnotized by his accent. Was that too weird? He wants Seamus to read his writing to him someday. He likes the total of three freckles that he has on his left eye. He likes the particular shade of pink his face is. Dean likes his face.

He likes Seamus.

“Oh shit,” Seamus says. “I’m being a terrible host. Come in, come in,” he waves his hand to guide Dean in.

The flat is cozy. It isn’t spotless, but it’s a manageable clutter. Magazines on the coffee table. Bills on the kitchen counter. Books and notebooks everywhere.

Dean smiles at him. “You’re being a fine host. This is a nice place,”

Seamus smiles in return. “Thanks. Figured I wouldn’t mind sharing a flat with a few mates, if it meant it was a nice one. It’s a bit on the expensive side, what with the balcony and all, but we manage.”

Seamus hands him a wine glass, and Dean takes it, still looking around. “Who else do you live with?”

“My roommate Parvati and her girlfriend Lavender. Lavender’s majoring in journalism, and Parvati’s an advertising student.”

Dean nods. “It smells heavenly in here.”

Seamus laughs. “Yeah, Parvati and Lavender are into incense, tarot cards, all that stuff. Lavender didn’t leave the house until she lit some. However, yes, my cooking is amazing.”

Dean takes a sip of his drink and looks at Seamus for the second time. “You cook?”

Seamus can’t stop smiling at him like he’s looking through pictures of kittens. “Yeah. I was considering culinary school, but writing won out. I work at a restaurant, though, to pay bills and all of that adult garbage.”

It did smell really, really good in the kitchen. There is a small table in the back, made for two, and there are little lights taped onto the wall, with a small candle in the center of the table with a singular flower in a little vase.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get us served.”

Dean nods, sitting down and placing his glass on the table, watching Seamus serve noodles, sprinkled with some sort of garnish and a bit of butter. Then, he adds some vegetarian meatballs.

“You remembered,” Dean says, as Seamus mounts some onto his plate.

Seamus smiles warmly at him. “It’s not that I remembered, it’s that I never forget,” he starts serving himself. “In part because I work at a restaurant and in another because you never leave my head,”

He starts walking over, setting Dean’s plate in front of him. He then shuts the main lights off, and turns a smaller lamp on, so that it isn’t so dark. His glasses glow and his face is cradled by shadows.

“That’s unfortunate,” Dean replies, not really sorry at all. Now he knows what it’s like to have someone else on his mind every waking minute of every day. Dean rolls some noodles onto his fork.

“I detect sarcasm,”

“No. Really?”

Seamus dabs his mouth with his napkin. “I cook you a nice dinner and I get an attitude in thanks?”

“How would you like me to thank you?” Dean asks him, slowly, innocently. The candle on the table wasn’t the flame reflecting in his eyes.

Seamus lets the wine dance in his mouth, taken aback. He swallows it down. “Some damn respect.”

Dean laughs. “Uh huh. Sure.”

They ate in silence for a while, appreciating each other. Forks brushed against plates. Wine was sipped. There was the occasional need to wipe their mouths. The candle continued to flicker on.

Dean groans. “Mm, Seamus you have outdone yourself. I thought noodles were all the same. Can I marry your cooking?”

“Great. I invite a cute guy to my house and he’s already planning on leaving me for food,”

Dean was a bit buzzed at this point, which caused him to giggle. “Hey, we can make it work! It’ll be a lovely relationship.”

Seamus shakes his head, turns the lights back on, and rises from his seat to clear the table. “See, the thing is Dean, The plates and silverware clatter in the sink. “That I want you all to myself. I’m a selfish bastard like that.”

“Oh, it’s all coming out now,” Dean says, blowing out the candle and clearing the glasses. “Seamus Finnigan is possessive.”

“Oh, it’s all coming out now,” Seamus repeats. “Dean Thomas likes that I’m possessive.”

Seamus turns around, and Dean is already in front of him. The glasses have been set down. He flips Dean to the other side.

“No…you like to be taken care of,” Seamus whispers, even though no one is home. “You don’t like being the center of attention, but you like being paid attention to. You like to be someone’s focus…”

Dean was quivering slightly between Seamus fingers, and Seamus was getting quite the kick out of it.

Here they were against the counter, so close yet too far away. Almost, almost, they kissed again, but Seamus leaves abruptly to go to the living room. Seamus nearly laughs at how loudly Dean groans exasperatedly.

Music is playing softly from the stereo.

Seamus smiles as he holds out a hand to Dean. “Dance with me.”

Dean agrees, moving slowly to the beat, falling asleep to Seamus’ whispers as he sings along to the songs. But Seamus isn’t letting him fall asleep just yet.

Seamus has his hands on Dean’s cheeks, and he’s so warm…he likes the way Dean keeps moving his hips, slowly and in time. His eyes are nearly closing, his eyelashes nice and long up close.

They’re alone, this time.

There is no pressure, no people, no pounding music, only two pounding, nervous hearts.

Seamus can barely hear himself say, “I’m going to kiss you now…”

It’s like his voice is just echoing back to him.

Seamus kisses him, and there is absolutely no rush, like time has slowed just for them. It’s silent, it’s soft.

Internally, there are entire tsunamis, hurricanes, whirlwinds and wildfires spreading. Bloodstreams full of fire and ribcages trying to contain the enormous waves of relief.

Outside, it was as if nothing had changed at all.

The music is the only indicator of change, moving to a faster pace. The room fills with sound, and suddenly, Seamus jumps. Dean joins him, laughing loudly along with him, utterly euphoric with happiness.

They dance around the house, dragging each other lazily throughout the apartment, singing drunkenly. Seamus spins Dean around, and Dean takes any chance he gets to kiss him again. And again. And again.

Because nothing matters anymore, except the fact that they’re here, and somehow they’re here together, at a moment when they need each other the most. Everything seems like it expands on forever, the world is endless. They truly are infinite. There is nothing that can contain how far emotions can go. Not even their bodies can hold them back.

Lavender and Parvati come home late. The music is still playing, and they can’t wait to ask Seamus how the date with Dimple Dean went.

Except Seamus is asleep on the couch, with an arm wrapped around Dimple Dean himself.

Parvati smiles at Lavender and places a blanket on them both.


End file.
